


The Saviour

by iberiandoctor (jehane)



Series: The Colony [2]
Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Alien Biology, Aliens, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Crueltide, Drugged Sex, Dystopia, M/M, Multi, Sexbots, Yuleporn, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 18:05:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13129059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane/pseuds/iberiandoctor
Summary: Javert wasn't going to question his superiors: Jean Valjean would be the unlikely saviour of their great nation.





	The Saviour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).



> Happy holidays, Esteliel! Not sure if your request for sexbot dystopia encompassed _alien_ sexbot dystopia, but hopefully this hits your spot!

Javert was the name he’d been given, after he’d been taught to wear a human face and given a crash course in human linguistics and sent out into the world of humans.

“Humans have first names,” Javert pointed out. 

“Of course they do, which is why you don't need one,” his handler had said, and fixed him with an oil-dark stare. Javert looked down; he had been bred to obey authority.

Before that he’d been called _Number 10_ , after his batch order in the birthing centre in Hyères, in the South. It was whispered of him that his sire had been a Bounty Hunter who’d gone rogue, and had to be put down by their people; he discounted this story, because breeding records were confidential and only known to the most senior of their superiors. In any case, the rumours just made him more determined to prove himself trustworthy to their great nation.

Growing up, his instructors discovered that the aptitude for laws and regulations and following orders had bred true, and when he’d had his full growth, he’d been deployed in the sphere of law enforcement. 

His instructors made no secret of it. If he’d been better at dissembling — better at approximating human characteristics and interaction, better at politics, and at dealing with nuanced situations where there was no straightforward course of action — he would have been assigned to a more public-facing role. He would have moved up the ranks, and been entrusted with the details of the national mission on Earth, and when the Earth was finally purified, and populated the way the mission directors had envisaged, he would have been allowed the chance to visit the homeworld that he and his batchmates and even the instructors had never seen.

As it was, he’d been trained as a prison guard and sent to do a guard’s work in the maximum security prison of Toulon.

  
  
  
  
 

His job in Toulon was to keep order amongst the human prisoners, which he did, faithfully, and with neither more nor less brutality than was permitted by the prison regulations. The humans had their laws, in the same way as the Nation did, and Javert’s skill at following and enforcing orders meant that he quickly became a valued member of the team.

Which was why he’d been chosen.

“The prisoner,” the Section Chief said. “The techs aren’t getting anywhere with him. They say we need to try another approach.”

Javert didn’t need to ask which prisoner it was. There was currently only one left in the prison population who was being worked with; the others hadn’t survived the tests. Javert wasn’t trained in the details of the tech, but he knew what was being done — the Nation of Colonists needed to breed with the humans, so that the Earth could be purified by hybrids who were the best of both their kinds. 

The problem was that most humans weren’t as strong as Colonists, weren’t worthy. They couldn’t endure the Nation’s ritual drugs and machines; they were driven screaming into madness or cardiac arrest or both.

Thus far, however, Jean Valjean seemed to be strong enough.

Valjean had been serving five years in Toulon for armed housebreaking. A physically unassuming man, he nevertheless had the strength of ten. The authorities had first taken notice of him when he’d saved several of his work crew by catching a falling pillar on his back, and holding it there until they’d fetched a hydraulic jack from the shipyard. They’d taken him to the med bay for tests, and put him on the standard monthly schedule; against the odds, he survived, where everyone else did not.

“He’s made it through thirteen cycles, but the breeding’s no good,” the Section Chief responded, when Javert asked. “Human physiognomy is tricky. The Chief Scientist thinks the sperm might be hardier if the subject were more willing. Either that, or the electric prod that they’ve been using kills the sperm. Anyway, they want to try something else.”

Javert listened to the plan. It sounded simple enough.

“Why not someone properly trained?” Javert knew that there had been others trained for sex work; those elite agents sent to the bedrooms of humans to do the most sensitive sort of infiltration work there was. 

The Chief shrugged. “Psych has thirteen cycles of his data. The images of women aren’t working. And it seems he likes you.”

Javert had nothing to say to this. In all Valjean's time in Toulon, they had exchanged barely ten sentences. Once, fairly early on, one of the newer guards had taken unsanctioned punishment against Valjean, and Javert had to chastise the newbie. He remembered Valjean’s eyes, dark and wary, and something else there, buried deep.

“Does Psych figure he knows the truth?”

The Chief shrugged again. “We’ve been careful. Anyway, humans are suggestible. Who’d believe that the world is filled with aliens experimenting on humans to create a hybrid race? Especially when they can read that kind of rubbish in _Le Parisien_.”

Javert nodded. He’d always followed orders. And this was for the benefit of the Nation.

The Chief said, “Try not to use the prod, unless it’s as a last resort.”

  
  
  
  


Readying himself for his encounter with Jean Valjean, Javert needed to find out how human males had sex with each other.

Colonist sex was a fairly routine affair. There was procreation for the propagation of the species, which involved fertility cycles and long negotiations to identify a receiving partner: as Colonists didn’t have designated receptive partners with wombs and no active members, breeding could take place between any agreeable adult pair. The traditional way of having sex for leisure was to do it alone, in one’s sleeping pod, where the pod bots would preserve all emissions for use in the breeding centres. There were some who took the ritual drugs to enhance the sensations, and others who even programmed their own illusions into the bots. Javert himself engaged in these activities in the same way as he engaged in all leisure activities such as reading: with diligence and a desire for self-improvement. 

Javert requested access to some on-topic reading material. He also watched several human porn videos featuring male-on-male sex. The mechanics seemed achievable enough: human males had an opening resembling the entrance of a receptive Colonist partner; that opening would, after some preparatory work, receive a member of even the size and girth of a Colonist’s. As long as the encounter did not take place during a fertility window, Javert’s mating spurs would not place the prisoner at risk.

The Chief observed Javert’s choice of instructional porn with some impatience; he’d never been much for training or self-improvement.

“Just make sure you use the device for collection, so don’t let him fuck you, and don’t use your mouth.”

The silver lining was that he didn’t think Valjean had had a lot of sex, with other males or females of his species. What he read of Valjean’s file seemed to indicate a life spent on the streets in grinding poverty. Not a lot of opportunity for the human leisure activity of dating and romance.

Anyway, it wasn’t as if Valjean was going to have much of a say about what Javert did or didn’t do. Valjean’s unnatural strength wouldn’t help him when he was secured to the huge automaton in the lab and his system was pumped full of drugs.

“He’s ready for you, officer,” said one of the techs. For some reason, the techs weren’t very good at shape-changing; their human masks always looked put on wrong, barely hiding their Colonist scales and their teeth. Or maybe it was the black Purity that they’d been given, that Javert was still too junior to partake of, that made their yellow eyes swim with tell-tale, oily blackness.

Javert took off his uniform meticulously. Then he drew himself up, made sure his disguise was firmly in place, and stepped through the laboratory doors to where Valjean was waiting.

Valjean was strapped down, spread-eagled, on the medical pallet. He was naked; the too-bright lab lights slid across his lithe limbs and smooth skin. His large, dark eyes were hot with hallucinations. Thanks to the drugs, he was already hard.

Javert realised that he, too, was painfully hard. It wasn't surprising, given the recommended hours of leisure he'd spent in his pod, and his careful preparation for this moment. 

Now, to the task at hand. Javert put on the proffered gloves, and took hold of the probe and lubed it up. Per the videos, he knew to use his fingers to prepare Valjean’s passage; then he ran the probe gently around the rim of his hole and eased it shallowly in and out again, so that the muscle would have time to adjust. He heard Valjean drew in a panting breath, saw him try to call Javert by name. He didn’t struggle, though; the machine held him fast.

When Javert slid the probe all the way in, a spasm shook Valjean; in vain, he tried to arch himself off the table.

“Relax,” Javert muttered. He understood sometimes human sex partners needed reassurance. “It’ll be easier on both of us.” 

He focused on Valjean’s prick. Up close, it didn’t look as strange as the other human ones in the videos. Flushed dark and uncommonly large and full of blood, it was almost the same colour as Javert's real one.

He grasped it and gave it a long stroke; Valjean groaned and Javert stroked him again, and again. Valjean shivered all over as if the probe had delivered the electric shock, though Javert knew it hadn't, and then came in thick, furtive spurts. 

At once, the techs approached from behind the automaton’s controls. They collected Valjean's discharge in sterile containers, consulted their tablets, and reviewed the amassed data.

Javert found himself lingering at Valjean’s side. Aftercare was, apparently, a thing humans appreciated. 

Valjean licked his dry lips. He stared at Javert. After what he'd done to Valjean, Javert expected to see hatred in the prisoner's dark eyes; what Javert did see instead was weary resentment.

“Why are they doing this?” Valjean croaked. 

Javert couldn't very well answer, because he didn't think Valjean would take kindly to being tested for compatibility with the Nation's breeding programme. Precisely why hybrids were needed to purify the Earth wasn't something Javert was entirely clear about, but he was confident it had to do with the saving of their species, and the Earth. 

“Why are _you_ doing this?”

That was a simpler question. His superiors felt this was for the good of the Nation, and following orders was a key part of Javert's job description. But Javert didn't think he could truthfully answer this, either.

"Well done," the Chief said, when Javert returned to the guards' quarters. "The techs said we have a live one. In fact, the Commissary said Jean Valjean might be the human we've been looking for all the years we've been in this sorry arm-pit of the galaxy."

Jean Valjean, low-life and petty burglar, the unlikely saviour of the Colonist Nation? Javert couldn't credit it, but it wasn't in him to question his superiors.

What he didn't account for was how the prisoner didn't leave his thoughts. It was bad enough when he was at work: he'd always be aware of Valjean's whereabouts, could almost feel those large dark eyes boring into the back of his skull, could hear that unmistakable voice asking him, "Why are _you_ doing this?"

Off-shift, it was even worse. When he was doing his laps in the gym, he managed to block out the thoughts, but he couldn't concentrate enough to read or watch the instructional vids. And when he was spending the recommended time alone in his pod, images of Valjean threatened to overwhelm him.

Finally, Javert decided to program the machine in his pod with an image of Valjean. 

Only this Valjean was a willing participant in their sexual encounters: as active a negotiant as a Colonist partner would have been, and as enthusiastic when they finally got down to the deed itself.

“For the Nation,” the Valjean bot said, and readily spread his smooth human thighs for Javert.

Perhaps other Colonists harboured sexual fantasies about humans, the same way these fellows coded their pods to fantasies of mating with superior officers, or being enveloped by the desert, or visiting the Colonist homeworld. Anyway, it wasn’t as if Javert was senior enough for any of his co-workers to want to attempt a negotiation, let alone his superiors. And the bot actually made him more receptive to Valjean in their monthly encounters, which was definitely for the good of the Nation.

The real Valjean was not so receptive. He endured six more encounters with Javert in the lab before trying to escape Toulon, evading the lights of the watch-tower, and managing to scale the barbed-wire concrete wall, almost as if he was as nimble as a Colonist himself.

He couldn’t run far, of course; one of the first things the prison guards had done was to tag him with an electronic signal. Javert discovered him in no time and brought him back to Toulon, and to the lab, and to their monthly visits. 

  
  
  
  


The months and then years passed; the testing continued. Javert tried experiments of his own devising, to see if different circumstances would affect the results. According to the new vids he’d ordered, it seemed some humans enjoyed leather, and uniforms, and so Javert dutifully attempted to build these new factors of human kink into their encounters. As far as he could tell, the results were the same; Valjean would shiver as if he was ashamed, and would climax readily into the containers without help from the electric prod.

The final straw came one a cold day in December, very much like any other day. Colonists didn’t feel the heat or cold in the same way that humans did; their skins were far better at temperature regulation. But Javert had become familiar with the way Valjean’s sweat smelled in the heat of the summer, and how, now that it was winter, Valjean’s body hair tended to grow in thicker, almost like a soft pelt. 

In all their time together, Javert had never touched himself, saving his own release for the sanctioned period when he was alone in his pod. But for some reason, on this occasion, he felt unusually reckless; perhaps he had been spending more time than was strictly recommended with the bot. 

He stroked Valjean’s sleek side, feeling the elastic sensation of the long muscles. He was as hard as he’d been that first time, years ago, as he’d always been for the bot. He took a deep breath, and then he removed the probe and took its place between Valjean’s thighs. 

It was unlike anything he’d ever felt — not with the bot, or with any other imagined encounters with his fellow Colonists — so real it was almost unbearable, the feeling of Valjean’s body hot and heavy and alive against him. Javert's thrusts grew more and more desperate, and very soon he found his release.

When he withdrew, he discovered Valjean had climaxed as well. They were silent as the technicians bent to their usual tasks collecting, analysing, ignoring.

“Why are they doing this? Why are _you_?” Valjean’s hair was plastered, sweat-damp, to his forehead. His dark eyes were clouded with something that would have looked like pleasure, had that been permitted.

Javert rubbed his face awkwardly. For the second time, he made a reckless decision. “For the good of the Nation,” he said. “And better me than anyone else.”

  
  
  
  


That evening, the Chief came to see him. He hadn’t bothered to adjust his human guise; his eyes flared yellow against the grey winter scales of his flesh.

“You’re getting a transfer,” he said to Javert, without preamble. ”Pack your things, you’re headed to Bicêtre.” 

“What happened?”

The Chief’s sharp teeth gleamed under the harsh winter lights. “Seems today’s shot was gold; better than all the last years’ combined. They want you to try with the other prisons, see if the approach can be replicated.” He paused, then looked at Javert meaningfully. “Besides, they think you’re getting too attached to the prisoner. The Chief Tech just discovered how you reprogrammed your pod bot.”

Javert flushed. “I thought getting attached to the prisoner was helping the mission,” he said.

“Yeah, well, this is _too_ attached. We don’t need any more Colonists turning renegade. I’ve heard the stories about your sire.” The Chief made an authoritative clicking sound. “Get to it, officer.”

“Affirmative,” Javert said. He knew he shouldn’t feel the urge to say goodbye. 

From the mainland, there was the sound of bells — the humans were celebrating the winter solstice, and the birth of a being some of them believed to be a saviour. Javert wondered if Valjean professed this human faith, and if he might consider it blasphemy to know he’d been considered, in his own way, another kind of saviour, for Colonists and the Earth alike.

Then he deprogrammed the bot, and started to pack.

**Author's Note:**

> So many beta thanks to S!
> 
> [Alien world-building](http://x-files.wikia.com/wiki/Alien) from [here](http://x-files.wikia.com/wiki/Bounty_Hunter).


End file.
